Shadow on the Sun
by Felony Melanie
Summary: When Harry defeated Voldemort, he thought he would finally have a chance to rest. Little did he know that his life was only beginning. Now, he must avoid the Ministry and their hungry dementors with the help of an old friend.
1. 1

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Title- _Shadow on the Sun_

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Summary- The Dark Lord was vanquished months ago, two to be exact, but then why are people still dying? The person behind it might not be the one you suspect. Takes place some time after Harry's Seventh Year at Hogwarts. 

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter or any rights to Harry Potter. I am making no profit off of this, all credit goes to Mrs. J.K. Rowling.

A/N- I was going to take a break from fanfiction and work on my original novel, but then I got an idea, and had to write it down before I forgot it. It has evolved into this, a novel-length fiction. I thank everyone immensely who has reviewed to my previous works, especially "The Will to Survive." I hope I don't disappoint you with this.

-

"I hurt myself today  
to see if I still feel  
I focus on the pain  
the only thing that's real  
the needle tears a hole  
the old familiar sting  
try to kill it all away  
but I remember everything  
what have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
you could have it all  
my empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt  
I wear my crown of shit  
on my liar's chair  
full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair  
beneath the stain of time  
the feeling disappears  
you are someone else  
I am still right here  
what have I become?  
my sweetest friend  
everyone I know  
goes away in the end  
you could have it all  
my empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt  
if I could start again  
a million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way"  
- Nine Inch Nails

-

**__**

Liberation

It happened very quickly. One moment, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was screaming in agony. . . falling to the ground. . . dying, and the next moment a shadow seemed to pass out of his body and disappear into Harry Potter's, sending him reeling backwards. Everyone was too concerned about seeing if Voldemort really was gone to notice the momentary flash of red in Harry's emerald eyes, or the way his lips twisted in a sneer.

The Dark Lord was gone, for good this time. His body lay before them, slowly transforming before their eyes. The thin, pale skin darkened and the creases disappeared. Black hair crept down over his eyes, and the slit-like nose became normal. And there lay Tom Riddle, a young Riddle in his late twenties, before so many Dark Arts had made him unrecognizable.

Harry Potter watched all the Aurors swarm the scene, watched the Order members still battling it out with the Death Eaters, but felt as though he was watching it from a distance. His head was pounding with a headache, and his vision was starting to blur. Someone said something somewhere near him, but the sound didn't make sense in his head. He was dimly aware that he had fallen to his knees. As if in slow motion, his wand slipped from his fingers and he fell to the ground.

-

Light.

Bright light.

Hospital Wing?

No, can't be Hogwarts.

Heaven?

That would be nice. He could see Sirius again.

The smell of. . . chicken?

Interesting smell for heaven. No, can't be heaven.

Harry's eyes finally focused.

The room was entirely white, save the tray of food next to his bed.

An extremely harassed looking witch entered the room through a door on the opposite side of the room from the bed.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, you are awake. Your friends will be most pleased."

"Where am I?" Harry asked attempting to sit up on the bed, and noticing that his voice was very hoarse.

"A private ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's hospital," she responded automatically pouring him a glass of water. "My name is Janus Thickey."

"A private ward?" he asked, taking the water from her and gulping it down.

"Oh yes, you see, people have been most eager to see you lately, ever since the fall of the Dark Lord. We have enough get well cards to be going on with."

"How long have I been here?" Harry asked.

"Close to two months."

"Two months?" Harry jumped.

"A very troubling two months it has been also. We were beginning to worry that you wouldn't wake up."

Harry settled down in his sheets and brought his hand to his face. He felt sleepy, even though he had just slept for so long.

"How do you feel, Mr. Potter?"

"Tired," he responded. He watched her carefully as she brought some potions over to him. "I've seen you before."

"Yes, you have. Two years ago, you stumbled upon Gilderoy Lockhart while climbing the stairs."

Harry remembered. They had been there to visit Mr. Weasley. "It feels like so long ago."

She turned to him with a kind smile on her face. "Yes, it does. Now, relax, I need to check your vitals."

Harry turned his head toward the small window in the room. Outside, he could see the Hogwarts castle, it's many towers and turrets rising into the clouds. It looked powerful against the pink sky, the sun setting behind a mountain beyond it. But how could he see Hogwarts from here? St. Mungo's was in London.

He turned back to the Healer who was waving her wand over him. "Are the windows enchanted?"

She looked at him for a moment and then at the window. "Yes. Whoever looks through them sees the place where they were happiest in the past."

Harry looked back at the castle. He saw an owl swooping out of the Owlery. "Is it a memory or is what I'm seeing really happening?"

"It depends on what you're seeing. Open up." She tipped a potion down his throat.

It tasted sweet, like pumpkin juice. Harry felt relaxed after drinking it.

"Well, you seem to be fine. You'll need to stay here for a couple of days for observation, but then you're free to go. Eat, you look famished."

"Madam Thickey?" Harry asked before she had exited the room.

"Yes?"

"Can I see my friends?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled warmly at him. "Yes, of course, dear."

He had hardly waited five minutes before the door swung open forcefully and a crowd of people piled into his room.

Hermione and Ron were in front, rushing over to his bed and greeting him. Ginny, Neville, and Luna were behind them, carrying piles of gifts, candies, presents, and food, and dumping it all on his bed. Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley followed, with them, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus.

They all greeted Harry, who was looking at the door, expecting more people to come in. Where was Lupin? Where was Dumbledore? Where was Mr. Weasley? Where was Percy?

Hermione, following Harry's gaze, said to him, "Harry, no one else is coming. We're it."

Harry kept his eyes on the door. "Where's Lupin, and Mr. Weasley, and Percy?"

"Harry—" Hermione started.

"And Dumbledore? Where's Dumbledore?" Harry said, his voice getting louder with each syllable. He didn't like the look in Hermione's eyes at the moment. Panic washed over him like a tidal wave.

Harry looked from one face to the other, seeing only sadness and how uncomfortable they were at this moment.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice heavy with pain, "Remus and Albus didn't make it out of the battle."

"But I saw them!" Harry said. "I saw them! Right after I killed Voldemort!"

"The battle went on for days after you killed Voldemort," Hermione said, choking back tears. "Professor Lupin killed Bellatrix Lestrange, but was hit with a curse from Mr. Malfoy." Here, her voice broke. "D-Dumbledore carried you away from the b-battle. When he was checking if you were. . . if you were okay, they hit him in the back." She looked away, her eyes watering. Ginny put an arm around her shoulders.

Harry maintained his focus on the door. In an unusually calm voice, he asked, very slowly, "And Mr. Weasley and Percy?"

"Percy is at the office," Mrs. Weasley said promptly. "And Arthur is also."

Harry felt the howl of anguish trying to escape his body. He felt the burning beneath his eyes. He felt the heaviness in his heart, but still, somehow, he felt an overwhelming joy. He felt almost as though he had just been told the greatest news in his life. And then. . . he felt disgusted with himself.

Ron broke the silence that was building up. "You should see the _Daily Prophet._ They've been writing non-stop about you. Most of the articles say you died in the battle, and others say you lost your mind and fled the country, but the other ones are pretty good."

Harry looked at him, and struggled to find a smile. "I'll look at them then."

"There's a pile of them somewhere in there," Ginny said, peering into Harry's gift pile.

"Yes," Luna said airily, "I also added some of Daddy's best issues of the _Quibbler_. There's one in there that's entirely about you."

Harry caught Hermione's exasperated look, and smiled slightly as he turned to Luna. "Thank you, Luna."

The pace of the party changed from there on out. Tonks, Moody, and Mundungus relived the best parts of the battle for Harry; Fred and George displayed some of their newer products for everyone to see; Bill and Charlie kept handing Harry gifts; Mrs. Weasley kept feeding him; Ron challenged Harry to a game of chess (which Ron won easily); Hermione and Ginny charmed the room so that shooting stars kept flying over their heads; and Luna told him (for about the thousandth time) all about her adventure in Sweden searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack two years ago.

They left him feeling entirely better and genuinely happy, and promised to visit him again the next day.

It was when the door shut that he remembered why his heart felt so heavy. Dumbledore. Lupin. Both lost. Forever. Harry sunk back into his pillows, and let the tears fall. He was grateful that Madam Thickey left him to himself, he would prefer that she didn't see him at his weakest point.

It was well past midnight when sleep rolled over him.

-

_The sun was bright overhead. The sky was cloudless. It would have been a nice day if a war hadn't been raging beneath the heavens. Mars was the brightest it had been for several centuries, as noted by the centaurs. They were part of this war too. Death affected all creatures._

Harry found himself standing in the center of it all, curses flying past him, corpses at his feet. Distantly he saw a cloaked figure, the tallest of them all, and the only Dark Wizard baring his face. Harry saw himself struggling to reach Voldemort, and then, barely ten feet away, pull a box from his pocket, and release it's contents, a ball of fiery white light. The ball shot at the Dark Lord, disappearing into his decrepit chest. The Dark Lord fell, and Harry saw himself fall not soon afterwards. A blur of navy blue and white flashed past him, and Dumbledore was on his knees, gathering Harry in his arms. He carried the boy away from the fray, out to the forest, firing curses at Death Eaters with such skill that none could avoid his wrath. In the shelter of the trees, Dumbledore placed the boy down, and Harry watched as his Headmaster muttered a series of words under his breath, and a blue glow seemed to encase the unconscious Harry. As Dumbledore was checking the pulse, a beam of green light fired from above disappeared into his back, and the Great Wizard fell, finally defeated. . . .

-

Harry jerked from his sleep.

Darkness was all around him.

It must still be nighttime. 

He was reaching for his glasses when he realized what had woken him. There was a loud screeching sound filling his room, echoing through the halls. He threw the covers off of his bed and retrieved his wand from the night stand. A man came through the door, a Ministry badge showing on his chest.

"Mr. Potter, you need to come with me," he said. Harry walked towards him slowly.

"Why? What's happened?" he asked, pulling on his robe.

"There's been a murder. We need to get you somewhere safe."

That's all Harry needed to hear. He allowed himself to be led from the room where he was then joined by four more Ministry officials. There was a neon green glow coming from a room down the hall. Once out of the building, he was given a Portkey, and swirled away, finding himself in the Ministry of Magic. 

If he had been expecting to find a group of friends awaiting him, he was wrong. The hall was empty except for many more Ministry Officials who guided him to the gold elevator which took them many floors underground, past all of the offices, further down than he had ever gone. He wondered briefly why all the wizards had their wands drawn. 

Finally, the clanging stopped, and they got off, Harry hardly seeing where he was going because of all the guards surrounding him. He was led down a dark hallway to a room that was furnished in the same fashion as the Gryffindor Common Room, but had a bed near the fire.

"Mr. Potter, the Minister requests that you remain here until you are contacted. If you need anything, feel free to ask," a man said.

Harry, completely confused about everything going on, nodded. "Yes, thank you."

The door closed behind him when he entered the room, and Harry heard a series of clicking sounds letting him know that he was locked in. He wished he would have had the chance to ask the man why he had to be removed from St. Mungo's.

Harry walked slowly to the bed, vaguely realizing that he was still wearing the robe and slippers the hospital provided. He sat down on the bed, the springs creaking from old age.

A murder?

In St. Mungo's?

But who? Why? Why was Harry being guarded so much?

_Well that's an easy one_, he instantly thought. _I'm the Boy Who Lived. Their precious 'savior.'_

He fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling which was enchanted much like the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Harry could pick out all of the star formations he had studied during his 7 years at Hogwarts.

He tried not to let his mind wander, because then it would come to rest on Dumbledore and Lupin and the fact that they're both dead. Unfortunately, the dream he had just experienced was fresh in his mind.

Try as he might to focus on Mars, his thoughts came to land on his dream.

The Killing Curse, the curse that had killed Dumbledore, had been fired from the trees. Harry was almost certain there had been no Death Eaters in those trees, for that area had been safe, belonging to those opposing the reign of darkness. Which meant that the person who had killed Dumbledore was still out there, not in prison with the rest of the Death Eaters. . . .

There was a traitor in their midst. 

The door opened forcefully. There, on the threshold stood the Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley. Harry sat up on the bed and watched the red-headed man's worried eyes come to rest on him.

"Harry," he sighed, "you're all right." He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped his forehead, looking entirely relieved.

"Of course I am, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied. "The Ministry people. . . they said there'd been a murder. Who was it? Who was killed?"

Mr. Weasley held Harry's eye-contact as he moved and sat on the end of the bed. Gently, he took Harry's hands in his. "I don't know how to say this. . . ."

"Then just say it," Harry said. "Why were you so worried about me being safe?"

"Harry, it was your nurse who was killed. It was Madam Thickey. We think the killer was trying to get to you."

-

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A/N- For anyone who has never read my stories before, they start out really awful and get better. There's no reason the same won't happen with this. Okay, I won't set a deadline for my next chapter because I always end up missing it. It won't be too long, though.

peace

felony melanie


	2. 2

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Disclaimer - Don't own it, don't sue.

-

__

In my eyes  
Indisposed  
In disguise  
As no one knows  
Hides the face  
Lies the snake  
The sun  
In my disgrace  
Boiling heat  
Summer stench  
'Neath the black  
The sky looks dead  
Call my name  
Through the cream  
And I'll hear you  
Scream again  
Black hole sun  
Won't you come  
And wash away the rain  
Black hole sun  
Won't you come  
Won't you come  
Stuttering  
Cold and damp  
Steal the warm wind  
Tired friend  
Times are gone  
For honest men  
And sometimes  
Far too long  
For snakes  
In my shoes  
A walking sleep  
And my youth  
I pray to keep  
Heaven send  
Hell away  
No one sings  
Like you  
Anymore  
Hang my head  
Drown my fear  
Till you all just  
Disappear

-_Soundgarden_

**__**

-

**__**

Imprisonment

Harry returned to St. Mungo's later that day, accompanied by four Aurors. He went back to the room in the hospital he had been in, two Aurors staying in the room with him at all times, the other two standing guard at the door. Apparently Mr. Weasley had them under strict orders to not let Harry out of their sight.

Harry's new Healer was an elderly woman who smelled strongly of overcooked cabbage. She was nice enough, but Harry often caught her staring at him with a disgusted look in her eyes. The room didn't feel quite the same without Madam Thickey bustling in, even if Harry had only known her for a day.

It was during his second day awake that Harry started to read his 'fan mail.' Some of the letters were normal enough, saying things like "Get well soon!" or "Thank you for what you've done!" but others were crazy, like one from a witch in Scotland saying:

__

Harry Potter

Will you marry my daughter?

We absolutely love you.

Harry felt sick whenever he read a letter like that. He remembered all too clearly in his fifth year at Hogwarts how everyone had thought he was crazy. Hermione and Ron came to visit him again, and told Harry that they too had been evacuated from the Burrow because they were such close friends to Harry and therefore in danger.

Two days later, Harry left the hospital.

It was like stepping into a new world. The destruction that had once ruined London was gone. Smiles were to be seen on every face, both Muggle and Wizard. Harry found it hard to believe it was the same city that had been demolished by Death Eaters.

He traveled to the Leaky Cauldron, where he'd be living until he could find a permanent house. He rented a private suite that was at the very top of the building; the Weasleys had offered for him to stay with them, but he had politely refused. He decided it was time for him to do something on his own for a change.

His room was fabulous. It had wooden floors throughout the entire suite, except for the bedroom which had a plush white carpet. The counters in the kitchen were marble, and the taps were twisted silver serpents whose mouths the water came out of. In the lounge was a furniture set of a couch, a loveseat, and a recliner, all of dark green dragon hide. The fireplace took up one entire wall, twisting rock formations with heads of gargoyles appearing at strategic intervals. Connecting the lounge and kitchen was a liquor bar, already stocked with rum, firewhiskey, vodka, and the finest wine found in the world. There was two balcony's, one connecting to the lounge, and the other in the bedroom. The one in the lounge extended over Muggle London. The one in the bedroom looked over Diagon Alley.

Satisfied with his room, Harry put his Hogwarts trunk in the bedroom, along with Hedwig's cage. Harry hadn't seen his owl since he woke up, but he had a feeling she would turn up sooner or later. He returned to the kitchen and went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a firewhiskey. He quickly popped off the cork and poured some into a glass, and then pulled his wand from his pocket and put it on the counter. He added some ice to the cup and walked with it out to the bedroom balcony where he could watch the children below racing up and down Diagon Alley. School would start for them in a few days. It felt odd for Harry to realize that he was an adult now, just over three months ago he had been in his 7th year at Hogwarts. He even still had the uniform and Head Boy Badge to show for it.

He took a deep drink from his glass, closing his eyes as the burning sensation ran down his throat and ended in his stomach and warmed him inside and out. He had tasted firewhiskey once before, during his 6th year at Hogwarts when Fred and George had sent Ron and Harry a crate for Christmas. Him and Ron had both passed out on the dormitory floor.

As a cold breeze swept past him into his suite, he decided to go inside. He put his empty glass in the sink and stretched out on the dragon hide couch and dozed off with the setting sun.

-

It was nearly two in the morning when the door to his room crashed open. Blinding lights shone from all directions, and all Harry could hear was a gruff voice grunting orders.

"Stand up slowly and keep your hands where I can see them."

Shocked, Harry lay paralyzed on the couch.

"Stand up, Mr. Potter!" the voice said.

Slowly, the feeling returned to his body, and he clambered off of the couch.

"Hands where I can see them!" the voice demanded.

Harry held his hands above his head. "W-what is this about?"

The man who had been speaking lowered his lit wand and walked to where Harry was standing, seizing his hands and bringing them behind his back. "You are under arrest for the murder of Madam Janus Thickey. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the Wizengamot court of wizard law."

"Murder?!" Harry gasped. "You. . . you think _I_ killed her?!"

"Where is your wand, Mr. Potter?" a woman asked.

"It's in my pocket," Harry said. "Listen, you've made a big mistake, I didn't kill anyone! Except for Voldemort, of course, but I had to!"

"Your wand isn't in your pocket, Mr. Potter," the same woman said.

Harry stopped. "No, of course it isn't. It's on the counter. I set it there after I made myself a drink."

Some wizards were still shining their wands in Harry's eyes, and quite frankly it was giving him a headache. After a glass of firewhiskey, no teenage wizard would feel like being woken up in the middle of the night.

With his hands tied tightly behind his back, he was pushed out of the room and into the hallway where five or six heads were hanging out of doorways to see what the noise was about. Harry tried his best to hide his face, though he knew it would make no difference in the end. Soon everyone would think that he was a murderer.

Harry felt three wands being pressed into his back, letting him know that if he struggled, they would either stun or kill him. He went quietly, down the many stairs until they reached the empty pub. Tom the innkeeper was waiting anxiously for them at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a pinstriped night gown and a stocking cap.

"Everything all right, officers?" Tom asked with meaningful look at Harry.

"Yes, Tom. Sorry to bother you. We'll have this bloke out of your way soon enough," the man who had tied Harry's hands said.

Tom said nothing, but hurried ahead of them and opened the door.

Though it was the dead of night, the streets were filled with people struggling to get past the Ministry Officials keeping them away from the Leaky Cauldron. The instant Harry left the building, he was blinded once again by hundreds of camera flashes. There was a roar of noise in his ears; reporters asking questions, wizards telling him they despised him, witches telling him they supported him. He hung his head and a pool of black hair came down around his face, comfortably shielding him from the crowd.

He was jostled around as they made their way through the crowd, and finally reached a Ministry car. He was put into the back seat, and immediately wizards started pressing in on the car.

"Why'd you do it, Harry? Was she mean to you? Did she abuse you?" one reporter asked.

"I didn't do it," Harry said pleadingly. "I swear to you I didn't do it." The door slammed, and he had a final view of the reporters scribbling madly in their notebooks before the car sped off down the street.

The cars were magically weaving in and out of traffic, and going so fast that Harry was sure that they'd crash, but they didn't. Nonetheless, he leaned forward in his seat and retched — the alcohol wasn't settling too well with him.

The man in the passengers seat in front turned around and looked at him. "First morning after firewhiskey?" he asked.

Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked up at the man. Harry nodded.

The man laughed, and turned around to face his partner in the drivers seat. "You can always tell with kids," he laughed.

"He's not a kid anymore, mate," the driver said. "He graduated from Hogwarts three months ago, he'll be tried as an adult in front of the Wizengamot. I'd reckon they'll give him life in Azkaban if he's convicted, but seeing as he's 'The Boy Who Lived,' he'll probably get special treatment."

"I won't," Harry groaned. "Even if I didn't do anything."

"Just keep sayin' that, pal," the driver said, sharing a laugh with his partner.

Harry leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. "_Life in Azkaban_." The dementors had been returned to the island fortress, according to the _Daily Prophet_. They would take away Harry's wand if he was convicted, and snap it in half, most likely, and then put him in a cell in Azkaban, defenseless against the awful creatures. Harry felt a chill sweep through his body and settle in his stomach. He had no Animagus form with which to protect himself from the dementors.

When they reached the Ministry of Magic, they met another crowd of reporters and photographers. As Harry was pulled from the car, questions were shouted at him, and camera flashes blinded him. They entered the Ministry of Magic, and led him down to the dungeons at the very bottom of the building, below the courtrooms. There he was put in a holding cell that resembled his bedroom at Privet Drive.

"How long am I going to stay here?" he asked the man who had removed the ties from Harry's hands and was now sliding his cell door shut.

"As long as it takes for all of the Wizengamot to get here," the man answered gruffly. The door closed with a resounding click, and the man strode out of sight.

Feeling more alone than he ever had in his life, Harry sat down on the small bed in one corner of the room, and settled his head in his hands. He didn't move until two hours later when the door opened.

He looked up.

It was Mr. Weasley.

"Mr. Weasley," Harry started, feeling he should somehow defend himself, but he left the sentence open. 

"We're ready for you, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, his face very grave.

Harry searched the older man's eyes for some glimmer of hope, but saw nothing.

"What's happening now?" Harry asked. Would his fate be decided today or would he have another day to remain in uncertainty?

"It's a hearing, to see if you'll get a trial," Mr. Weasley answered. "We'll check your wand and hear from the witness, if it is necessary."

Harry stood up, and Mr. Weasley led Harry up a level to the courtrooms. Entering the same courtroom he had his hearing in three years earlier, Harry found the room packed. Mr. Weasley took his seat up on the highest bench, directly in front of the chained chair that Harry sat down in. Instantly the chains sprang to life and wound their way up Harry's arms, binding him tightly to the rough wooden chair.

He looked towards the audience section of the courtroom and his eyes were drawn instantly to the group of red hair. All the Weasleys (save Arthur) were there, along with Hermione. All of them were looking at Harry with a mixture of disbelief and pity.

"I didn't do it," Harry mouthed to Hermione.

"I know," she mouthed back.

Mr. Weasley stood up. "Mr. Harry James Potter, you sit before the Wizengamot court on the charge of murder in the first degree. Do you have anything to say in your defense before we examine your wand?"

Harry could not believe that the stony faced man in front of him was the same Mr. Weasley he had seen laugh so many times. "I didn't do it," Harry said almost half-heartedly. He didn't feel it would to much good to scream his lungs out just now.

"Very well. Can I have the wand?" Mr. Weasley said. Harry saw a woman hand his faithful wand to Mr. Weasley.

"_Prior Incantato!_" Mr. Weasley said, bringing out his own wand. Harry watched in horror as the head of a woman appeared from the point where the two wands met. Her torso came next, then her legs, and after she had fallen to the floor and stood up, she looked sadly at Harry.

"How could you, Harry?" she wailed miserably, her voice distant yet able to echo around the chamber. "How could you _kill_ me?"

"I didn't!" Harry yelled. "It wasn't me! I swear it!"

The group of wizards sitting on the high bench leaned in close together and whispered quietly. Harry looked over to the audience and saw that Hermione had burst into tears. Finally, the wizards stopped whispering, and Mr. Weasley faced Harry.

"The counsel sees no reason to question the witness," Mr. Weasley said. "Mr. Potter, I hereby sentence you to life in prison without chance of parole for the murder of Madam Janus Thickey." He slammed a gavel down on the desk.

"NO!" Harry yelled. "No! You can't!" That was it? That simple? Just hear from an echo and slam the gavel and it's over?

The door behind him opened, and two hooded figures glided through it. Harry found the breath catching in his throat already.

"No! Don't send me there! Please!"

Two pairs of clammy hands freed Harry from the chair and lifted him to his feet.

"Hermione! You know I didn't! You know I couldn't!"

But Hermione was sobbing into Mrs. Weasley's shoulder.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, struggling against the dementors. "Ron! Say something! Help me!"

Ron merely watched Harry with a look of hurt and disgust.

"Please!" Harry yelled. The Wizengamot was standing, watching Harry being dragged away.

"May you rot there, Mr. Potter," a man said, and several people clapped.

"You're making a mistake!" Harry yelled desperately, but no one took heed of what he was saying. 

The cold was closing in on Harry, he could no longer draw breath. He saw the last image of the courtroom, photographers snapping pictures, Hermione crying, before the darkness engulfed him and he thought no more.

-

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A/N - Not very good, but this chapter was just meant to be for the purpose of getting me from point A to point B. The next chapter is when it'll really start to flow. By the way, if you have any suggestions for opening songs, let me know.

peace

felony melanie


	3. 3

****

A/N Sorry, sorry, I know the last update took a while, and the reason for that was that school suddenly gave me more work, and I'm also on the newspaper staff, which means my articles come before this, sadly enough. The reason _this_ chapter took a bit was that my computer crashed, and I thought I had lost all of my work, but my computer got back online a couple of days later, and everything was recovered. All right, this chappie is short, but the next one will be longer.

-

__

where do bad folks go when they die?  
they don't go to heaven where the angels fly  
they go down to the lake of fire and fry  
won't see 'em again till the fourth of july  
  
i knew a lady who came from duluth  
she got bit by a dog with a rabid tooth  
she went to her grave just a little too soon  
and she flew away howling on the yellow moon  
  
where do bad folks go when they die?  
they don't go to heaven where the angels fly  
they do down to the lake of fire and fry  
won't see 'em again till the fourth of july  
  
now the people cry and the people moan  
and they look for a dry place to call their home  
and try to find some place to rest their bones  
while the angels and the devils  
fight to claim them for their own

-Nirvana

****

-

**__**

The Halls of Azkaban

There was no hell worse than Azkaban, as was true for all who experienced the terror-filled nights, and those who had only heard tales. The cold on the island penetrated deeper than your skin, it was said, it surrounded you, engulfed you, choked you. The sun seemed to have never reached the lonely fortress. The icy water lashed at the rocky foundation that was the prison day and night, as though an undying tempest disturbed the quiet sea. The constant roar of the waves sometimes blocked out the screams, but not all the time. Sometimes the screams were all that were heard, in uneasy sleep and lonely day.

Harry Potter had been unconscious for the time it took to reach the prison. He was unconscious when they put him in his cell. He was unconscious when they brought his first meal. 

But unconsciousness was preferable to what Harry would have to face when he woke up. All of the terror stories from his godfather, or even from Hagrid, were nothing compared to actually experiencing it. Death was the thought that dwelled on every mind. The sad truth of it was, death was better than living in Azkaban, which is why many prisoners prayed for the day they would die, hoping that sometime soon, the suffering would end.

Back on the mainland, the Wizarding world was buzzing with the events that had taken place while they'd been asleep. Harry Potter, _the_ Harry Potter, had been arrested and sent to Azkaban for murder. The same boy that had killed the Dark Lord also killed his nurse. So many questions haunted the citizens. Most prominently "Why?"

"It makes no sense!" Hermione pleaded to the Weasley family, all sitting gloomily in the lounge in the Burrow. "Why would Harry do something like that? I don't think he did it!"

"His wand did the curse, Hermione," Ron said. "You saw that woman come out of it. She even identified him. It was Harry."

"But that doesn't mean that Harry couldn't have been framed! Harry had no motive to kill his nurse!" Hermione continued.

"It doesn't matter why he did it, Hermione," Bill said. "The fact is, he did it, and now he has to suffer the consequences."

"Maybe killing You-Know-Who made him go mad," Ron offered.

"No," Hermione said, "a mad person would admit they killed someone. I saw Harry's face in that courtroom. He was framed."

It was nearly a week after being pulled from the Leaky Cauldron when Harry's eyes finally fluttered open. From his cell, he could hear the distant sound of waves crashing on the rocky shore. That was the first thing that registered in his mind. The second thing was the cold.

His head throbbed as though it had been slammed into a wall. Slowly, he sat up and looked at his surroundings. Through the bars in the cell door he could see across a hallway into another cell. There, on the bed in that cell, sat a man Harry knew only too well.

His hair was longer now, and dirtier, and he was no longer wearing expensive robes, but his eyes were just as gray and cold as they had ever been. Lucius Malfoy gazed back at Harry, an empty look in them, his lips muttering incoherent nonsense.

"Harry Potter," he said roughly, his throat obviously parched. There was a crazed look in his eye "I never thought I'd see you here."

Harry sighed and fell back on his cot, flinching as his joints groaned.

"_Not Harry! Please not Harry!_" Harry pushed the haunting memory from his mind.

"Don't want to talk?" Malfoy asked.

Harry rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, choosing not to respond. He pulled his knees up to his chest, trying his hardest to get some warmth. The robes he was in were paper thin, and he had no shoes or socks on. The wind howled as it ran through the bars of his window.

Malfoy didn't try to push a conversation, much to Harry's pleasure. He was too occupied with other things. One, for instance, was how he had ended up in Azkaban. How had his wand performed the Killing Curse if he, Harry, had never performed it? Why did the echo of Madam Thickey say that Harry had done it if he had no recollection of doing such a thing?

"Maybe I did do it," Harry groaned. "Maybe I've just gone mad and don't remember."

"_Kill the spare_."

He had no more time for logical thought. The dementors were getting closer to his cell, he could sense them. Screams echoed down the halls of Azkaban, making the hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickle. He closed his eyes, trying to block them out of his mind, but he could already hear the rattling breath. He knew what he would see if he were to look at his door, but he couldn't. Even in his mind he saw billowing black robes.

"It's not there," Harry told himself. "I'm back at Hogwarts. There's no dementor there."

He could hear Malfoy muttering to himself. "Yes, my lord. . . of course. . . ."

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!_"

"_Stand aside, you silly girl. . . stand aside, now. . . ._"

"No. . ." Malfoy moaned. "No. . . please. . . not again. . . . No!" Malfoy started to scream as though his life depended on it, as though he were being tortured.

"_Kill the spare._"

"_Is that the best you've got?_"

"_SIRIUS!_"

The dementor finally passed, leaving Harry struggling for breath. It was eerily silent now. Harry couldn't hear the ocean, or the screams of other prisoners. He clutched the thin blanket on the cot, feeling as though if he let go, he would fall away.

"Are you going to eat that?" Lucius Malfoy's voice cut through the silence.

Harry lifted his head slowly to look across the hallway. Malfoy was sitting on the floor at the door, his arm dangling through the bars and pointing at a plate of food in Harry's cell that had not been there before. Malfoy looked almost. . . _normal_ now.

"I'm not giving it to you," Harry said, putting his head back down. "And why are you talking to me anyway? I thought you hated me."

"I do. I'm hungry."

"Well I am too. I'm not giving you my food."

"Shh, listen," Malfoy said, holding a thin finger to his lips, the crazed look back in his eyes.

Harry lifted his head slightly from the mattress. Distantly he could hear screaming, frantic screaming, and then the sound of a door opening, and then, quite suddenly, silence. He looked at Malfoy who had a sick smile on his face.

"You can always tell when they're near the end," Malfoy said quietly. "Their screams get more frantic, the dementor closes in, the screams turn to cries, the dementor lowers it's hood, then silence. The dementor swoops down on them." Malfoy closed his eyes as though he had been listening to the best thing he had ever heard.

"You're mad," Harry said.

"Maybe I am," Malfoy said, not bothering to open his eyes. "We'll both be out of here soon enough. Then it won't matter."

"What?"

Malfoy opened his eyes and stared at Harry, his eyes narrowed. "Oh come now, Potter. We both saw that shadow enter your body, at the battle. The Dark Lord is possessing you right now, or trying to. Maybe he's encountered some difficulties, but he'll find a way around them, and then you — " Malfoy leaned forward and gripped the bars " — will get us both out."

Harry stared at Malfoy, his mouth hanging open.

"Don't tell me you didn't know that," Malfoy continued. "You _really_ thought you'd been framed for that murder? I read about it in the papers, '_I didn't do it, I swear!'_ I thought that was just a desperate attempt to stay out of here!"

Malfoy turned so his back was against the bars and brought his hand up to his face.

"I knew you were dense, Potter, but this is ridiculous."

"I didn't kill her!" Harry said.

"Maybe _you _didn't, but your body did. Perhaps you were asleep and the Dark Lord gained control. Hell, there was even a witness."

"Who?"

"Another patient in the hospital," Malfoy said. "Saw you in the middle of the night, and thought you were going for a glass of water or something. He saw you go into the woman's office, saw the flash of light, and saw you leave."

Harry rolled over on the cot and faced the wall. "Don't you ever talk to me again, Malfoy," he said. "Leave me alone."

"The Dark Lord always knows. He always finds a way."

Malfoy stayed silent after that, and left Harry to himself, though he returned to muttering. 

"Under the drawing-room, under the drawing-room," Malfoy repeated, banging his head backwards against the rusty bars of his cell.

Harry eventually rolled off of the cot onto the cold, stone floor, and crawled over to his plate of food.

"A plate of rice?" Harry asked, picking up a handful of the grain and crushing it in his fingers. "Who eats white rice with nothing else?"

Malfoy sat watching Harry with an amused look in his eye.

Harry groaned and shoved some of the food into his mouth. He had never liked rice.

His mouth felt oddly sticky after eating, and he craved a drink. They hadn't given him a drink, and he didn't think they would in the near future. So, Harry pulled the thin blanket off of his bed and ripped it easily in half. He put one half on his bed, and took the other half to the window. He carefully tied one end to the window bars, and let the rest hang out of the window, with the idea that if it rained, it would catch water which Harry could drink.

He felt a chill sweep through his body, and thought it was because of the icy wind coming through the window, but the chill went deeper than his skin, and he realized that the dementors were coming back around. He threw himself onto the cot and closed his eyes.

"_If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup._"

"_Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!_"

The cell door was sliding open. . . . Harry could hear rattling breath.

"_Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!_"

"_SIRIUS! Get him! Save him! He's only just gone through!_"

"_It will be quick. . . it might even be painless. . . I would not know. . . I have never died. . . ._"

A cold, scabby hand closed around Harry's arm. . . .

"_No! Not Harry!_"

"_Kill the spare._"

He was being lifted from the cot, and dragged from the cell. . . . He could hear Malfoy screaming.

"_Please not Harry!_"

"_Lily! It's him! Take Harry and run!_"

"_He won't come back._"

"_Harry, Remus and Albus didn't make it out of the battle._"

Harry's head was fogging up, he knew he couldn't stay conscious for long. A cold, high laugh echoed in his head, drowning out the memories.

It was over. . . all over. . . he would never see daylight again. . . .

And then, quite suddenly, his head was clear, the laughter was gone, and he was sitting upright in a chair.

He heard the closing of a door.

He opened his eyes.

There, sitting across from him, was Hermione Granger.

-

****

A/N Hmm... do I see H/Hr on the horizon? Next chappie will be up soon.

felony melanie


	4. 4

****

Disclaimer - I own nothing other than the plot.

As I sit here and slowly close my eyes  
I take another deep breath  
And feel the wind pass through my body  
I'm the one in your soul  
Reflecting the light  
Protect the ones who hold you  
Cradling your inner child  
  
It's serenity  
In a place where I can hide  
I need serenity  
Nothing changes, days go by  
  
Where do we go when we just don't know  
And how do we relight the flame when it's cold  
Why do we dream when I thought mean nothing  
And when will we learn to control  
  
Tragic visions slowly stole my life  
Tore away everything  
Cheating me out of my time  
I'm the one who loves you  
No matter wrong or right  
And every day I hold you  
I hold you with my inner child  
  
It's serenity  
In a place where I can hide  
I need serenity  
Nothing changes, days go by  
  
Where do we go when we just don't know  
And how do we relight the flame when it's cold  
Why do we dream when I thought mean nothing  
And when will we learn to control  
  
Where do we go when we just don't know  
And how do we relight the flame when it's cold  
Why do we dream when I thought mean nothing  
And when will we learn to control  
- Godsmack

**__**

Trapped

It was a moment that lasted an eternity. Harry looked into Hermione's face, trying to interpret her emotions. Did she think he was guilty? Innocent? But her face didn't betray her emotions in the slightest. 

Hermione took a moment to look at the man in front of her. It seemed like so long ago that he had been the excited 11 year old on the train to Hogwarts. Now, the bags under his eyes betrayed his age, and his eyes were hollow, like grief had taken away the sparkle.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Hermione replied breathlessly. "Here," she dug into a bag that was sitting by her chair.

Out of the bag came some chocolate, broken up into small pieces, being held in a plastic bag. She gave it to Harry.

"Thanks. . . ." Harry looked at the food in his hands. "It's so cold here," he said, forcing himself to concentrate on the bag. "I can't get warm. It's so cold. . . ." His eyes were burning. He refused to look at Hermione.

"I know," she said quietly.

Harry shook his head. "No, you don't. You don't know what it's like," he looked up into her face. "I didn't do it, I swear."

Hermione leaned over to Harry and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I know. . . we'll find someway to get you out of here."

"Ron thinks I did it, doesn't he?"

Hermione hesitated. "Yes, but I know a part of him wants to believe you didn't do it."

Harry closed his eyes. "I don't want to die here, Herm," he said softly.

"You won't. Just hang in there, Harry."

Harry and Hermione broke the hug, and Harry continued looking at the chocolate. "How are things?"

"Things are. . . . Things are. . ." she started, "Oh, Harry, things are awful. It's not the same without you. Ron and I are constantly at each other's throats, and Mr. Weasley is getting a lot of the blame for you being in here. I'm living in London now, but whenever I visit the Burrow it's always a mess, they're always fighting. Ever since my parents died, I've counted on them to be my family, but it's hard when they don't act like family to each other." Tears were streaming down Hermione's face.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "This is all of my fault."

"Don't you dare blame yourself," Hermione said. "I need someone at least partly sane to talk to, and if you blame yourself for all that's happened, you're crazy."

"I can't stay sane for long," Harry said, shaking his head. "Not here. . . . Not when I'm always hearing my parents dying, or Sirius dying. . . ."

"But you'll get out of here," Hermione said. "I don't even care if it's legally or not. Listen, I'm at a room in the Leaky Cauldron. It's the one you were in when they took you, the suite. If you ever get out. . . ."

The door opened.

"_Hermione, Hermione, wake up. . . ._"

_Don't let her be dead, don't let her be dead, it's my fault if she's dead. . . ._

Harry instinctively leaned forward and hugged Hermione again.

"Harry, I'm putting the chocolate in your pocket, so you won't drop it, okay?" Hermione said.

Harry maintained his grip on Hermione.

High, cold laughter was ringing in his ears. . . .

"Harry? Harry, look at me. . . . If you ever get out, come find me."

Harry sucked in a breath as a tremor ran through his body. He forced his head upwards, even as his eyes were rolling back in his head.

"Harry, don't give up. . . ."

Hermione was going pale as she looked at something over Harry's shoulder. The rattling breath was getting closer.

Harry didn't know how it happened, but Hermione's and his lips met, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he felt warm, and his head seemed clear.

Harry was pulled from the chair and dragged out of the room, getting a last glimpse of Hermione's tear-streaked face before the door slammed and he was among darkness once more.

-

Harry sat in a corner of his cell.

"No. . ." he groaned, clutching his knees to his chest. "No. . . Get away. . . leave me alone. . . ." In front of him, was a bubbling stone cauldron, large enough for a full-grown man to sit in. The surface of whatever was inside of it was spitting out fiery white sparks so bright that Harry turned his head slightly.

"No. . . it's gone wrong. Please let it have died. . . ."

The sparks stopped suddenly, and a continuous stream of white steam issued from the cauldron. Harry couldn't move. . . he had to run, he had to get out of there. He knew what was coming. . . he knew, but he couldn't do anything about it.

"_Robe me_."

The icy, high-pitched voice stabbed through Harry so forcefully that he screamed in terror.

The ability to move again washed through him as he stopped screaming. He scrambled to his feet, back pressed tightly to the wall. Fiery red eyes peered at him through the steam. The man. . . no. . . the _creature_ in front of Harry started to laugh as a one-handed man pulled robes around his frame. Harry edged along the wall, then ran to the door of the cell.

"Let me out! Please! Help me! Hurry!" he screamed. He looked quickly over his shoulder. Lord Voldemort pulled a long, sharp wand from his pocket. "Help! Quick! Voldemort's here!" He fruitlessly attempted to dislodge a bar, and then turned back to the wizard in the cell with him.

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort hissed.

Harry fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Through the bars of the cell, he could see Malfoy watching him with glee. 

Knives were penetrating every inch of his body, his scar was burning painfully, he was going to die. . . he knew it.

A pair of black boots appeared at his head, showing beneath a long, black cloak. 

The pain went away.

He sat up, and looked at the man at his cell door.

"What are you hollerin' 'bout, Potter?" the guard asked.

"Voldemort," Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.

The man paused. "What?"

"_Voldemort!_" Harry said louder. He climed to his feet, turned slowly and looked back into his cell. Voldemort was sitting on his bed, twirling his wand in his fingers, watching Harry amusedly.

"Calm down, Harry, there's no one there."

"SHH!" Harry said, putting his fingers to his lips. "He might _hear_ you!" He looked again into his cell. Voldemort stood up and strode over to Harry.

"HELP!" Harry yelled. "Quick!"

The guard laughed and shook his head. He strode off, twirling his wand in his hand, whistling slightly.

Harry felt long, spindly fingers close around his neck. He gasped for breath, trying to pull the hands away.

He couldn't breath. He was falling. . . falling through hollering wind. . . his robes whipping around him. 

His body was swallowed by icy water. He sucked in a breath, and, in so doing, swallowed a large amount of water.

He twisted around in the water, coughing and sputtering as the uneven current slapped him in the face. Up above him, on a rocky island, was Azkaban. How did he get out here?

Not knowing whether it was dream or reality, Harry swam to shore and scrambled up the stone rocks. The night air swirled around him, causing him to shiver, his soaking robes clinging to his body. He peered through the darkness. He could barely make out a dock, being abused by the water, with a single boat being thrashed around in the waves.

Still not sure whether he was awake or asleep, he attempted to climb down to the boat. Losing his footing on the slippery stones, he fell to the ground, a sharp rock cutting a slash into his left leg, just along the calf. When he felt the pain and saw the blood, he realized he wasn't dreaming. 

He had somehow escaped Azkaban.

Harry crawled more quickly down towards the boat, his bare feet getting cut up by the rocks, but he didn't care. Freedom was 10 steps away. . . . 5. . . . 3. . . . 2. . . .

"OI! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?!"

Harry twisted around quickly to see a guard watching him through the darkness, and in that momentary loss of concentration, he slipped off the rock and slid down the slope, feeling rocks slamming into his body.

There was a small drop right before the water. . . he tumbled off of it. When he hit the water, his brain went into shock. Cuts all over his body burned with the salt, and he scrambled to keep his head above the waves. He could feel the rip-tide sucking him under, and he struggled to come up for air. He realized his right arm was in an amazing amount of pain, throbbing in the icy water.

While glancing up towards the prison after taking a breath, he saw five or six guards aiming their wands at him. A split second later, he was hit with five or six stunners, and was sucked below the waves.

-

Pain.

Oh, the pain was unbearable.

Excrutiating. That was the only word. Excrutiating.

Mental pain, physical pain. . . it was all there.

Not any pain, either. It was the type of pain that had your mind screaming, trying to get out; get out or just die. . . end the pain.

When Harry woke up, he was curled up on his cot again. This time, his hands were chained together, and so were his feet. His arm was in a roughly hewn sling. _How kind_, he thought, _they didn't bother to heal it. . . ._

The cuts all over his body had stopped bleeding, but the bruises still pounded into him. While glancing down at his legs, he saw a great long gash on the left one, still oozing blood, staining the thin half-of-a-blanket that was on his cot.

He groaned as he rolled over, attempting not to put any weight on his broken right arm.

He glanced lazily out through the bars of his cell, expecting to see Lucius Malfoy huddled in an insecure ball, but the cell was empty. A guard went walking past Harry at that moment, his wand hanging at his side.

"Excuse me," Harry whispered, coughing.

The guard stopped and turned towards Harry.

"What happened to Malfoy?" Harry asked.

The man's brow furrowed, and he leaned against the bars. "I thought you would know. He escaped the same day you nearly did. So did half of the prisoners on this row."

-

****

A/N Review! ::gets on knees and begs::


	5. 5

****

Disclaimer I own nothing relating to Harry Potter.

****

A/N hmm... not that many reviews for that last chapter.... oh well... I'll survive. This chapter is slightly longer. 

Only a portion of a song, today. Good chorus, might I add.

**__**

Enjoy.

****

-

  
  
"_Gravedigger  
when you dig my grave  
could you make it shallow  
so that I can feel the rain  
Gravedigger_"

-Dave Matthews Band 

****

Fugitive

Harry began to lose track of time. After his near-escape, a dementor was stationed outside of his door at all times, leaving him screaming in his sleep and huddled in a protective ball during the day.

His broken arm healed, but in a very ugly position that rendered it useless; not that he really needed to use it for anything anyway, but it was slightly uncomfortable.

He vaguely noticed when a new prisoner was put in the cell across the hall from him. They had only spoken once.

"Yer tha' Potter boy, ain't yeh?"

"Not anymore."

The man kept watching Harry, not saying anything, but looking as though he were trying to read Harry's mind. Harry learned to ignore him after a while.

Voices haunted Harry day and night. Sometimes he saw things, bad things, in his cell. Sometimes, in his sleep, he would visit other places. One night he was at the graveyard. The next he was in the Department of Mysteries, in the Death Chamber, watching Sirius falling. . . .

Once in a while a guard would come into his cell, to make sure he was still alive. They would almost seem disappointed when they found a pulse.

Harry's hair grew long and hung in his face most of the time. He grew skinnier, soon the robes began to slip down his shoulder. Once or twice a guard went into his cell to force Harry to eat, but he would usually vomit it up later. Soon they stopped bothering.

A long time later, Harry wasn't sure how much later, the dementor outside his door left. In fact, all of the dementors on the row left. Some prisoners crawled to their feet and went to the doors, to see what was happening. Others just slumped over and took the opportunity to sleep peacefully. Harry just sat watching the door, mumbling nonsense to himself.

A balding man with fiery red hair appeared amidst a group of Ministry members. Harry knew who it was.

"Unlock this door," Mr. Weasley said. Immediately an Azkaban guard leaped forward and opened Harry's cell door.

Harry twisted his hands in his lap, watching the man entering his cell.

"Hello, Harry. Do you remember who I am?" Mr. Weasley asked, taking a seat on Harry's cot.

Harry just watched him, his mouth hanging open slightly. A tremor ran through his body, and he gave an involuntary shake.

"I'm Arthur Weasley, Harry," Mr. Weasley said. "You went to Hogwarts with my son, Ron."

Harry drew in a long breath, and blinked.

"You don't remember, do you," Mr. Weasley said, more to himself than to Harry. "I bet you don't even remember why you're here. I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Harry."

Mr. Weasley reached out and grasped Harry's wasted shoulder. Harry immediately swung his arm through the air and knocked Mr. Weasley's arm away. Harry crawled along the wall, to sit in the opposite corner.

"Don't touch me," he said hoarsely.

He saw a hint of pity in the Weasley's eyes as he stood up to leave. He was at the door when Harry spoke again.

"Mr. Weasley, —" the man turned "— what day is it?"

Harry saw Mr. Weasley take a deep breath. "It's July 31, 1999. Happy 19th Birthday, Harry."

The door closed with a click, and the group of people continued down the hall. Harry hugged his knees to his body and leaned his head against them. After a bit, the dementors returned to their posts, and Harry didn't remember seeing Mr. Weasley, or remember hearing that it was his birthday. All he knew was that he wouldn't survive long in here.

When Harry went to sleep, he thought he heard a very high-pitched voice in his head, not screaming, or laughing, but speaking very calmly to him.

"Just sleep, Harry, when you wake up, you'll be far away from here. That's it, just relax."

-

Something was moving Harry's arm. Water was washing over his body, a nice contrast to the hot sand beneath him and the burning sun above him. When something cold and wet inserted itself into his ear, he jolted awake and sat up.

A black dog was bouncing around him, and had apparently stuck its nose in Harry's ear. He watched the dog for a bit before it hit him where he was.

He was on a long beach, sitting partly into the cold water. It was beautiful, the only way Harry could describe it. Birds flew past him overhead, and the golden sand stretched as far as the eye could see. A breeze blew past him, ruffling his hair.

He still couldn't believe where he was. The dog continued bouncing around him.

"Shoo," Harry said, waving his deformed right arm at the dog. "Get away."

The dog barked, and sat down, but didn't show any sign of leaving.

Harry got slowly to his feet, his joints cracking.

He still had his Azkaban robes on, they were soaking wet, and had large amounts of sand stuck to them. But Harry didn't care. He walked along the sand, not caring at all that the sand burned his feet. He hadn't felt warm for a year. He swept his long hair out of his eyes and peered around. He had to figure out where he was.

He walked away from the water, the dog following him up the sandy dunes, sinking into the ground. He made it to a ridge of trees. Just past them he could see a street with shops and people. It amazed him that the beach was deserted.

He crept as close to the people as he dared to go. Briefly, he heard a shout from a small child to his parent. It was Scottish, he was sure of it. He was in Scotland.

Harry was deeply disappointed that he couldn't Apparate, seeing as the Ministry kept tabs on who was Apparating and Disapparating, and as he was sure that Europe was being searched for him, he didn't think it would be a good idea. He didn't know whether he dared speak to a local, but he was pretty sure they were all Muggles; they probably wouldn't recognize him.

Just the same he crept closer to the street. There was a girl, maybe 10 years old, standing alone as her parents waited in line for an ice cream. Next to her were several bags of clothes.

"Psst," Harry hissed. "Hey, girl." The girl tensed and looked up and down the street. "Over here, behind you, in the trees." The girl turned and saw Harry. She briefly looked him up and down, and look at the dog at his side.

"Are you 'omeless?" she asked, a thick Scottish accent showing. He was thankful that she spoke English.

Harry, knowing how pathetic he must look, answered, "Yes. Listen, did your daddy buy any clothes?"

"Yes, why?"

"I could really use some clothes. I'm very cold."

The girl looked at him. "Where did you come from?"

"A long way away. I was being held prisoner by some bad guys, and if they find me they'll kill me," he lied flawlessly. It was partly true. "I just need some clothes for a disguise."

The girl considered him for a second. "Oh, all right then," she said brightly.

She dug in the bags next to her, and moved some clothes into separate bags.

"Do you want shoes too?" she asked.

"Please."

She continued to dig through the bags. Harry made sure that no one but the girl would see he was there as he watched her parents to make sure they weren't returning.

Finally she handed him a bag with clothes. "There you go!"

Harry managed a smile. "Thank you, . . ."

"Sarah," she said.

"Thank you," he repeated. He turned and left her alone, heading back towards the beach. He found a spot in the trees to change. The dog ran off, chasing a bird, and didn't come back.

The girl had given him khaki slacks, a white collar shirt, a red pull-over sweater, a pair of white socks, and a pair of brown shoes. Surprisingly, they all fit him perfectly. He also found in the bag some money, which he supposed Sarah had slipped in there. He was grateful for it.

Feeling a bit more confident, he jammed his hands in his pockets and strode out into the street. Sarah and her parents were gone.

No one looked twice at him, he blended in perfectly. He walked a ways down the street, appearing to be just a tourist. He went into a coffee shop and bought a drink, and settled down in a corner of the room. 

He watched the people walking past, not really noticing any of them, when he saw something that caused him to choke on his coffee.

A man walked by, dressed as a Muggle, a camera around his neck, but showing clearly on his chest was a badge. It wasn't any normal badge. It was the badge of an Auror, from the Ministry of Magic.

Harry knew that the man would be carrying a wand, and if he wanted to survive at all, Harry needed a wand. Quietly and unnoticed, he slipped out of the shop, and followed the man.

They walked for a long time, up and down streets, Harry staying a way behind the man so that he could keep sight of him, but the man wouldn't know he was being followed.

It was when they turned onto an empty street that Harry seized the opportunity. He ran up behind the man, tackled him, and shoved him hard into the pavement. Instantly the man was unconscious, and Harry searched his pockets. He found a wand, a couple of Galleons, knuts, and sickles, and a folded paper. Harry opened the paper, and found himself staring into his own face.

"**Have you seen this Wizard?**" the paper read. Harry stuffed it roughly into his pocket.

He dragged the Auror off to the side of the street, and lay him amid some garbage that usefully hid him from view.

Shaking his hair out of his face, Harry grasped the wand in his right hand and stuck it out to the street.

A screech echoed down the alley and a towering, triple-decker, purple bus appeared out of no where and skidded to a halt right in front of Harry.

A man he knew instantly to be Stan Shunpike jumped off the bus. "Welcome to the Knight Bus," he said. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this afternoon."

Harry cleared his throat and attempted to lower his voice. "One to the Leaky Cauldron," he grunted.

Stan peered at him. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and allowed his hair to fall over his face.

Stan stared a second longer then stepped back onto the bus. "No luggage?" he asked Harry.

"No."

"All right, a one way trip to the Leaky Cauldron is eleven sickles."

Harry quickly took out some silver from his pocket and gave it to Stan. He boarded the bus and immediately went to the upper levels, attempting to get as far away from Stan as he could.

The bus lurched forward with a _Bang!_ right as Harry was sitting down on a squishy armchair, and he was thrown backwards into the chair, but thankfully it stayed upright. He spent most of the bumpy ride massaging his forehead. Seeing the sun again was giving him a headache.

He looked out of the window for most of the trip, catching glimpses of street signs and benches leaping out of the way to allow the magical bus passage. As he passed houses, business buildings, and empty pastures, he couldn't help wondering where the Death Eaters were hiding.

He would like to say that everything was back to normal, but that would be a lie. He couldn't show his face, wouldn't dare use his own voice, and something was definitely missing from him. He thought of Hogwarts and the people he had loved, and those who had loved him, but he surprised himself when he found he no longer cared. Azkaban had taken from him the one thing that had given him and advantage over Lord Voldemort. The ability to love. Every once in a while, a trickle of rage would course through his body, causing him to shiver slightly, and close his eyes till it passed. Where the feeling came from, he didn't know, and frankly, he didn't want to know.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of riding, the bus stopped, and Harry, looking out the window, saw a busy London street below him. His heart seemed to leap into his throat.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Stan hollered up the stairs.

Harry stood up, his legs strangely wobbly, and climbed down to the lower level. Careful to keep his face hidden by his hair, he briefly thanked Stan and Ernie, the driver, and stepped off the bus. He heard a bang and knew that the bus was gone.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked meaningfully towards the Leaky Cauldron, and stepped inside. The pub was full, like it always was, and no one seemed to notice him enter. He walked past them, up several flights of stairs, until he reached the topmost level. There, he located the door to the room he had stayed so briefly in that night so long ago, and knocked.

There was no sound from within.

He knocked again.

This time, he heard the scattering of papers, the closing of a book, and the sound of footsteps coming towards the door.

"Who is it?" a voice called.

"It's me, Hermione," Harry said.

There was a pause, and then the door flung open. There, on the threshold, stood a girl with straitened brown hair and big brown eyes. She looked disbelievingly up at Harry.

"It's. . . . It's really you?" she asked.

"It's really me," Harry answered, smiling in relief. He pushed his hair back from his forehead to reveal the scar he had received 18 years earlier.

Her eyes watered as she stared at him. Finally, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him inside.

"You look so different," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I wasn't sure it was you for a second."

"I wasn't sure it was you," Harry replied. "Your hair is different."

She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "I've missed you so much. They wouldn't let me visit Azkaban anymore. I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

Harry grasped her hand with his left hand. "I'm here now."

She smiled, and looked him up and down. Her eyes fell on his right arm. "Harry. . . what happened?"

And so he fell into the story of how he found himself outside the prison, how he had tried to climb down the rocks to escape the guards, and how he had broken his arm in the fall. Hermione immediately whipped out her wand and mended his arm in an instant.

"But how did you get out?" she asked.

Harry closed his eyes and looked away, a pained expression on his face. "There's something you don't know, something you need to know. I'm. . . I'm not too sure I can stay here with you. It's too dangerous."

"Harry, what —" she started.

"Sit down, Hermione," Harry said. They walked over to the couch Harry had fallen asleep on a year ago. He took a deep quivering breath. "When I defeated Voldemort, right after the ball of light hit him, I saw something leave his body and enter mine, like a spirit or something. I think that. . . that it was Voldemort, in spirit form again. I think that when I sleep, sometimes he controls me. I'm pretty sure he controlled me the night that my nurse died. He controlled me again when I almost escaped Azkaban, and again when I did escape. I think he also got all of those other prisoners out."

"But, Harry, that doesn't make sense. If Voldemort is trying to possess you, why would he send you, his only weapon, to Azkaban?"

Harry considered this for a moment before meeting Hermione's panicked eyes. "He was trying to soften me up. The reason he couldn't control me before was because of my heart, or that's what Dumbledore said. If I was around dementors for a long time, I would forget love, and he would be able to possess me."

Hermione watched Harry. "But I still don't see how it works. Once you left Azkaban, you felt love again, right?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "I don't know, Herm. Something feels different. It's like I don't really care about things anymore. It's like I've forgotten what love feels like."

Hermione grabbed his hands. "Just give it time," she said wisely.

Harry nodded, and leaned back in the couch. "It's been a long day," he said. "But I'm not very tired."

"Up for a game of Wizards Chess?" Hermione asked playfully.

Harry's thoughts immediately fell on Ron. He wished that somehow he could see Ron again, just say hi. He wanted to regain the feeling of having him as a best friend, but Harry knew that was very unlikely.

"Harry?" Hermione prompted, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts.

"No," Harry said flatly. "I don't. . . I don't think I like Wizards Chess very much anymore."

Hermione peered at him through her intelligent eyes, seemingly lost in thought. "You know," she said, "I like you with long hair."

Harry fingered a strand of hair falling into his face. "Really? I don't know, I feel like I should belong in a homeless shelter."

"It makes you look mysterious," Hermione said, as though this decided the matter.

"Well, I can't cut it anyway," Harry said. "It's my disguise."

Hermione watched him as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She gently pushed some of the hair out of his face. "Harry," she said, causing him to turn and look at her, "don't worry, we'll figure this out."

Harry nodded, looking away. "Dumbledore would know what to do," he said bitterly.

Hermione couldn't help but agree, but Dumbledore wasn't here anymore. They were on their own, and somehow, now that she was with Harry, she felt more vulnerable than ever. She moved closer to him.

"We'll worry about it in the morning. Just rest for now," she said, leaning her head against his chest.

Ten minutes later they were both asleep.

-

Harry woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, his breath quick, his body covered in a cold sweat. His dreams had been filled with clammy, rotted hands, rattling breath, high pitched laughter, and screams, and for a second, he had been sure he was back in Azkaban, and seeing Hermione again had just been a wonderful dream.

He took a minute to catch his breath as he looked around the apartment. Hermione was sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, a book open in her lap, her wand lighting up the page. She looked up when he began to stir, but said nothing.

Harry realized he had been covered with a thick cotton blanket, and moved it off of him as he stood up and walked over to where Hermione was. She scooted over in the chair, allowing him to sit down. He automatically put his arm around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. They both stared silently into the fireplace where the remnants of a fire were smoldering.

He was drifting back off to sleep when a noise jolted him awake again. Twisting around in his seat, he saw a beautiful snowy owl perched on the back of the couch he had just been on.

"Hedwig!" he whispered.

The owl hooted again and flew over to his arm.

Harry smiled, and brought his other hand around to pet his faithful owl. "I missed you, girl," he said, stroking her smooth feathers.

"She's been waiting here for you," Hermione said quietly. "She's hardly left the building."

Harry nodded and whispered to his owl, "You can go stretch your wings now, girl, I'm back. I promise I won't leave again."

Hedwig cooed, rubbed her head against Harry's cheek, and took off in flight, soaring out of an open window.

Harry watched her disappear into the night, her silhouette illuminated briefly by the light of the full moon.

-

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Give me suggestions on what you want to happen next in a review (that is, if you have any suggestions. . .). Okay, next chapter will be up soon.

peace

felony melanie


	6. 6

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Little angel go away, come again some other day  
The Devil has my ear today, I'll never hear a word you say  
He promised that I would find a little solace and some peace of mind  
Whatever just as long as I don't feel so  
Desperate and ravenous  
I'm so weak and powerless  
Desperate and ravenous  
So weak and powerless over you  
Over you  
Over you  


- A Perfect Circle

**__**

Scar

Arthur Weasley returned from Azkaban pale and shaking. When he arrived at the Burrow, Molly fixed him a glass of rum and he settled at the kitchen table. Ginny appeared from her room and joined him, itching to ask him the question, the inevitable question, but scared of the answer. She sat in silence, pretending that nothing important had happened today.

When Ron Apparated in, all pretense of aloofness was lost as he threw his broomstick in a corner of the kitchen and threw himself into the chair across from his father.

"Did you talk to Harry?" he asked immediately, his hands flat on the table.

Arthur looked at his son. "Yes," he said quietly.

There was a pause, and then, "WELL?" Ron demanded.

Arthur put his glass on the table and picked up a napkin which he dried his mouth with. He seemed to be trying to delay his response. Finally, his hands clasped together on the table, he spoke. "I won't lie to you and say it's the same Harry that you knew."

"Well I know that," Ron said. "Harry always reacted badly to dementors. Did he say anything to you?"

Ginny looked quickly to her father. "He asked what day it was," he said, taking another sip from his glass.

Ron kept his eyes trained on his father for another few moments before looking down at the old table.

"I thought you didn't believe he was innocent," Ginny said quietly to her brother.

"I don't," Ron said defensively, "But, Gin, he was my best friend for 7 years. I still want to hear about him."

"I don't think you really believe he's guilty," Ginny said angrily. "You know Harry, you said it yourself, 7 years, Ron. And then this, and you immediately turn your back on him!"

"I _thought_ I knew him!" Ron roared back at her. "But I obviously didn't."

There was silence except for the sounds of Mrs. Weasley preparing dinner.

"Ron, honey," she said, "take off those gloves before you eat. They're filthy."

Ron pulled the orange Chudley Cannon gloves off of his hands and slammed them on the table. They were muddy from practice earlier.

When Mrs. Weasley announced that dinner was ready, Ron excused himself, saying he wasn't hungry, and disappeared up the stairs into his room, Ginny glaring resentfully after him.

"Well, I believe Harry's innocent," she said to no one in particular. Then she got up from the table and walked out the door into the yard, where the light of the setting sun gave an eerie glow to the world.

-

It was nearly 4 in the morning when Arthur awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Slipping out of bed and pulling a cloak over his pajamas, he quietly descended the stairs until he made it to the dark kitchen. He lit his wand and located the front door.

"Who's there?" he grumbled.

"Minister, it's Harrison, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I have urgent business to report."

Arthur opened the door and admitted the pale Ministry member. "Well? What's happened?" Arthur urged.

"I got a message from Azkaban. Harry Potter escaped approximately 30 minutes ago," he said in a rush.

Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach as a numbness overcame him. Harry? Escaped? How? He found himself at a loss for words.

"Minister," Harrison continued when it came apparent Arthur wasn't going to say anything, "I recommend a search of maximum proportions. Potter is dangerous, most people have no idea what he is capable of. We need dementors combing the streets day and night. If he is found, he should be ordered the Dementors Kiss." And then, to no one in particular, "Lord, this takes me back to the days of Sirius Black's escape."

Arthur, upon hearing Sirius' name, regained the ability to speak, though this time it was through gritted teeth. "Except then we were hunting down an innocent man. We could be making the same mistake again."

"We aren't. There was no one there to frame Potter. Minister, if we don't act quickly, he will be given time to hide, and then we might never find him," Harrison urged.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Do what you must," he said finally.

-

Hermione woke early the next morning, leaving Harry asleep in the chair by the fireplace. She made herself some coffee and settled at the kitchen table with a newspaper. She unfolded the front page as she took a sip, and the next moment she choked.

**Murderous Wizard Escapes Azkaban — Dementors Kiss ordered by Minister.**

Below was a haunting picture of Harry, as he looked now, asleep in the lounge. The whole theme of the newspaper centered around Harry. On page two they had a story titled "Hero to Villain — The Many Sides of Harry Potter." They also had a story proclaiming that Harry had learned how to escape from Azkaban from Sirius Black. All of the stories referred to Harry as some Dark Lord who destroyed Voldemort only to make way for himself; not a single one argued his innocence. Not one raised the possibility that Harry might not be acting of his own accord.

She decided she didn't want Harry to see the paper just yet, so she put it in her room with a stack of other papers mentioning Harry's name, and returned to the kitchen with a book on Self-Transfiguration. Harry needed to change his appearance if he wanted to avoid the Ministry.

Quietly she flicked through the pages, drinking in the knowledge. She was just reading about changing your own eye color when someone knocked on the front door. She jumped, but waited, hoping that the person might go away. The knocking persisted, and a sleepy-eyed Harry stumbled into the kitchen.

"What do I do?" he whispered hurriedly.

"Come here," she whispered back, pulling him down the hall and into her bedroom. She shoved him roughly inside and closed the door.

The knocking continued, and a voice called through, "Hermione? Are you in there?"

"Coming!" she hollered back.

Her whole body in an uncanny state of numbness, she stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. Ron walked in as though he owned the place.

"Did you hear?" he asked, turning to face her as she closed the door.

"About Harry?" she questioned, trying to act innocent. "Yeah, it's all over the papers."

Ron nodded and turned away, running his hands through his hair. He sighed. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, his voice trailing off.

Hermione didn't know what to say, so she stayed quiet.

"Where do you reckon he is?" Ron asked, turning back to her.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said quickly. "Probably hiding."

Ron shook his head. "I can't believe my dad would order the dementors on him."

Hermione had to agree with him on that. Seeking to steer the conversation away from Harry, she asked, "Has there been any improvement on finding the escaped Death Eaters?"

"No, it's like they just disappeared off the face of the earth. There's been no sign of them at all, no killings, no sightings, nothing. I can't see what they escaped to do, they have no power since You-Know-Who is gone."

"For goodness sakes, Ron, say the name, he's been gone for over a year."

Ron ignored her and turned away again. He stopped as he looked at the couch. "You slept on the sofa last night?" he asked, indicating the crumpled blanket Harry had been using.

"Oh, yeah, I was reading and just fell asleep," she said innocently. She knew Ron would believe her.

Ron nodded, then looked seriously at Hermione. "Hermione, Dad says that Harry wasn't himself. If he comes to find you, don't act like a hero and try to save him. He could hurt you." The eye contact Hermione held with Ron for that moment was painful. She felt like dragging him to her bedroom to reveal that Harry was there, but then, Ron looked away, and she felt as defiant as ever.

There was silence as Ron looked around the apartment from where he stood and Hermione watched him anxiously. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "Don't you have practice this morning?"

Ron jumped and looked at his watch. "You're right! See you later!" He turned to leave, but stopped. He turned back and took Hermione's hands in his. "Be careful, Herm," he said, squeezing her hands gently. With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind himself. Hermione collapsed on the sofa.

Taking a moment to breath, she then got up and went to the bedroom to fetch Harry. She knocked on the door, and when there was no response, opened it carefully.

"Harry?" she asked quietly. She walked further into the room, and saw Harry hunched over an open trunk, his back to her.

She walked over to him and kneeled next to him. He finally acknowledged her presence by looking at her, and she saw the sadness in his eyes.

"I didn't know you'd saved this stuff," he said, indicating the trunk in front of him. In it were Harry's possessions, his spell books, his Hogwarts uniforms, his Gryffindor scarf, his photo album, even his precious Firebolt. All of them miraculously as they had been when Harry had graduated from Hogwarts. He spotted his Head Boy badge pinned to the fabric inside of the lid.

Hermione nodded. "Arthur took it from the Ministry when they were done searching it for evidence. It was at the Burrow for a bit, but Molly couldn't handle seeing it. So I took it," she said, shrugging. "I never opened it."

Harry said nothing, but moved aside his Hogwarts uniforms and located a silvery blue cloak pooled at the bottom of the trunk. Gingerly, he pulled his father's Invisibility Cloak from the contents. He let it drape over his outstretched hands, trying desperately to remember the fun he had with the cloak, how he had treated it so lovingly. But now, all he felt was an emptiness inside of himself. He remembered that Dumbledore had given it to him, for Christmas. A surge of hatred seemed to course through his veins, coming to rest in his forehead.

His scar started to burn as screams rang in his ears. He let the cloak fall back into the trunk as he clasped his hands to his head.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked frantically as Harry fell backwards on the ground.

"My scar," he groaned. "My scar. . . it's burning. . . ."

Hermione was in too much shock to think of anything to do. She merely watched Harry, praying desperately that the pain didn't mean anything. She thought she saw his eyes flash menacingly, but chose to ignore it.

Thoughts and memories seemed to fill Harry's mind, but he had never experienced any of them. It was as if he were watching a television screen that kept changing channels. One moment there was a boy with black hair sitting in a dark corner of a library, books open around him. Next moment he was in the Great Hall, watching a boy receiving an award for Services to the School. The same boy was pulling on a cloak. . . Leaving the doors of Hogwarts and walking into pouring rain. . . . 

Drinking Potions. . . casting spells on himself. . . changing his appearance. . . .

Entering an old house, killing his father and grandparents. . . . Dying. . . . Rising from a cauldron. . . speaking to swarms of cloaked figures. . . dueling Dumbledore. . . dying again. . . .

Pain. . . .

Death. . . Harry was dying, he knew it. His soul was being ripped from his body. He was being torn apart. He would see Sirius again, and Lupin, and Dumbledore. . . .

Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain disappeared, as did the visions. Harry, still on his back on the floor, tried to regain his composure, his hands still clasped over his forehead. He felt cold, and his skin was tingling. His mind was racing with everything he had just seen.

His eyes found Hermione's, and they shared the same, terrified look as silence fell between them.

-

****

A/N ::evil grin::

Happy Holidays!

****

Shawn Pickett - Thanks a bunch for the suggestions! I will certainly consider the other ones for later in the fic. . . .


	7. 7

****

Disclaimer- I don't own anything that you recognize.

-

__

I know that there's a point I've missed  
a shrine or stone I haven't kissed  
a scar that never graced my wrist  
a mirror that hasn't met my fist  
but I can't help feeling like I'm  
due for a miracle  
I'm waiting for a sign  
I'll stare straight into the sun  
and I won't close my eyes

-Thrice

-

**__**

Visiting Old Demons

There was a great pounding on the door. Hermione instantly helped Harry off of the floor as they heard a voice carry through the door.

"Hermione Granger, open up. We are Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. We want to ask you a few questions." But Hermione ignored them.

"Harry, you need to listen to me," she said, forcing him to concentrate on her.

"_Alohomora!_" The Aurors were trying to force their way in. Luckily, Hermione had charmed the door so that even the Unlocking Charm couldn't open it.

"Harry, you need to go somewhere you know you can hide, where no wizards are around—"

BANG! The person was slamming something heavy against the door.

"— I'll contact you there. Apparate out of here, there are wards on this place so that they cannot track you. They'll never know you were here —"

BANG!

Hermione grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from the trunk and thrust it into Harry's arms. "Use this when you must. Do you have the wand?"

Harry nodded and patted his pocket.

BANG!

"Go, Harry. Keep your head down."

BANG!

"Hermione. . . ." Harry started, feeling like he should thank her in some way.

"Just go!"

He captured her lips for a brief moment, before —

CRUNCH! The front door broke open.

"GO!" Hermione hissed.

And the world dissolved around him, colors swirling in every direction, his stomach churning irritably.

He spun through space for a few moments.

And then his feet slammed into solid ground.

-

Vernon and Petunia Dursley of 4 Privet Drive were as normal as folks could get. Their only son was away at University in America, and they were very happy to live in their peaceful suburban home, devoid of any excitement or strangeness.

They denied that a boy other than their own had ever lived in that house, because, in their opinion, Harry Potter had not been human. Their nephew had been full of oddities and quirks that made him a disgrace to show in public.

When he left that final day for his last year at that school for freaks, they were quite glad to be rid of him, and happy that he would never disturb the normalcy of Privet Drive again. They never expected him to appear, right before their eyes, in shaggy long hair, crisp new clothes, with a silver cloak hanging on his arm and a wand clutched in his hand.

It was such a surprise, that poor Petunia Dursley dropped her favorite china cup on the kitchen floor, tea splattering the stainless tiles. Vernon had to grip his wife by her shoulders, so she wouldn't faint. Vernon too appeared surprised, but soon his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he snarled.

Harry returned the glare, and said, "I need a place to stay for a while." He walked lazily over to the kitchen table and kicked out one of the chairs. He sat down, and rested his feet on the table top, his aunt clasping her hand to her chest, gasping for breath.

Vernon let out a low growl as Harry leaned back in the chair, watching his aunt and uncle with laughing eyes.

"I'm warning you, boy," Vernon started.

But Harry had pulled the wand out of his pocket and was now twirling it lazily in his fingers. He smirked as Vernon gulped and backed down, still gripping his wife by her shoulders.

"Yes?" Harry asked innocently.

Vernon gulped again, and walked cautiously out of the kitchen, careful not to turn his back on his nephew. Petunia was still watching Harry's feet with wide eyes as she got dragged away.

Harry summoned a drink to him from the fridge and drank it slowly. His scar gave a small twinge, and he winced. He gazed out through the kitchen window, watching the sun rising up in the sky. Far away in London, Hermione was confronting the Aurors, probably taking her to the Ministry at this very moment. They would question her, and if they found out Harry had been there, she could end up in Azkaban for concealing a known fugitive.

His scar twinged again.

"Stop it," he said, rubbing his forehead vigorously.

No, Hermione was smart, she would find a way out of it.

Harry smiled. Hermione Granger was the cleverest witch he'd ever met. If anyone could avoid the Ministry, it was her.

Harry stood up and started to leave the kitchen, but he stopped. Feeling a slight twinge of pity, he cleaned up the mess on the floor and repaired the cup. As he walked through the lounge, he saw Vernon determinedly reading a newspaper, his face very red, and Petunia wringing a dusting rag in her trembling hands.

When Harry approached his aunt, Vernon set aside the paper with a flourish of movement and stood up quickly from the chair.

Harry held out his hand towards his uncle. "Uncle Vernon, please. I didn't come here to hurt you."

Vernon's hands curled into fists, but he stayed where he was just the same. Harry held out the repaired china cup to his aunt. Petunia pursed her lips tightly, her eyes on the cup, and then looked Harry in the eyes.

"Why have you come back?" she asked, not snobbishly or with a snarl, but with a genuine look of confusion in her eyes.

"If I could explain it all to you, I would, but I can't. If you agree not to bicker me, I'll act as though I'm not even here. In a few days, you'll never see me again," Harry said, his hand still extended towards her.

Harry thought he saw a spark of understanding in his aunt's face, and the next moment she had accepted the cup from him.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he said, a genuine apology. With a brief nod to both of his relatives, he left the room and climbed the stairs to reach the smallest bedroom in Number 4, his aunt and uncle staring incredulously at his back.

-

When Hedwig flew to Harry's window at sunset, it felt like he was still in school, home for the summer, awaiting letters from his friends. He felt, for a brief moment, as though he were just an innocent wizard, eager about the world he belonged to, his life not tarnished by death and destruction.

But when Harry read the letter attached to Hedwig's leg, that feeling washed away, and reality slapped him in the face. He remembered suddenly why he was where he was, where he had been. Hermione's note was short, merely asking him to meet her at Grimmauld Place in a week, and briefly mentioning that everything at the Ministry went well. She also included a package with the letter, and Harry saw that it was a book on Self Transfiguration with a note from Hermione telling him to change his appearance.

Harry lowered the letter and book onto his desk and glanced briefly at Hedwig who had settled herself on top of his dresser. He also unconsciously glanced out through the window, as if searching for suspicious figures. Seeing none, he locked the window and closed the curtains.

He lit the lamp that had been in that room for as long as he could remember, and took a moment to look around the room. When he had first come up here earlier in the day, he was too worried to really notice anything. Now that he knew things would be okay for a while, he began to notice how uncared for this room was. It was obvious that Aunt Petunia hadn't been in to clean since Harry had left, possibly longer than that. There was a cobweb in one corner of the ceiling. A thick layer of dust coated everything, including the bed and the floor. Add to that the smell that lingered in the air, and Harry got the feeling that he was in the Shrieking Shack instead of a suburban home.

Harry pulled out his wand and quickly cast a cleaning charm, and soon the room was spotless. He locked his door, turned off his light, and without a moment's delay, collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

-

The next day was beautiful. The sky was a bright blue color, with a few white clouds scattered across it. The sun was burning hot, yet comfortable. Several kids were out in the streets, riding bikes or playing catch. There was a cool breeze that swirled through tree branches and ruffled Harry's hair as he walked down Privet Drive. The fact that he could do this amazed him now. He had taken Hermione's advice and changed his appearance, and oh, how he changed it..

He swept his now blonde hair out of his eyes, which were now light brown. He had lightened his eyebrows as well, and given himself a bit of a tan. He looked good, he thought, and it was all worth it when he entered the kitchen and Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped her toast, thinking that a burglar had entered the house.

He didn't have the same effect with his scar, however. He had tried the spell to change your skin color on it, but it only disappeared for 10 seconds before returning. The same happened with the spell to remove defining marks. Having no other option, he gave himself some bangs to hide the mark.

Now, as he walked down the street, he had his hands in his pockets, one wrapped tightly around his wand. His ears were pricked for any sign of danger. He glanced quickly at everyone near him. No one seemed to be a posing threat, so Harry continued walking.

He walked for maybe ten minutes before he sensed someone behind him. He flexed his fingers around his wand and turned sharply on his heel, unsheathing his wand.

Fourteen year old Mark Evans jumped and stumbled backwards at Harry's sudden movement. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the wand in Harry's hand.

"_Wizard?_" he mouthed silently as he looked from the wand to Harry's face.

Poor Mark scrambled in his pockets for a brief moment before he pulled out his own wand.

"Lower your wand," Mark said, his hand shaking slightly, "or I'll curse you." He wasn't lying. After the Ministry had recognized the return of Voldemort just over 3 years ago, they had lifted the ban of students doing magic during the holidays. Now, as long as it wasn't an illegal curse, students were permitted to practice magic.

"Why were you following me?" Harry asked, returning his wand to his pocket, but keeping a grip on it.

"I saw you come out of Number 4. Harry Potter used to live there with the Dursleys," Mark said smartly, keeping his own wand covering Harry.

"So?" Harry asked.

"So, Harry Potter escaped from Azkaban. It figures he would come back to Privet Drive. No wizards around, right? Just Muggles and that squib down the street. I wasn't sure it was you. You did a job on your face."

Harry watched Mark's eyes. Mark obviously knew his true identity, but in his eyes. . . there was a softness there. Somehow, Harry knew that Mark was trustworthy.

The young boy continued to point his wand at Harry, his face contorting with false rage. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and instead, extended his hand.

"Welcome back to the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, I believe in your innocence."

Harry stared dumbstruck at Mark for about ten seconds before shaking his hand.

"Mark, thank you," Harry said, "but now that you know. . . I'm sorry, the Ministry could find you and give you Veritaserum, or Death Eaters could. . . well. . . I'm so sorry."

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the boy.

"_Obliviate!_"

Harry turned and ran back to Number 4, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself.

-

It was easy to get to London six days later since the Dursleys had kindly called a cab and given Harry money to pay for it. He was in front of 12 Grimmauld Place by noon. Of course, the cab driver couldn't see it, but Harry told him to stop right between numbers 11 and 13, and climbed out.

A woman was watching him from the steps of the grimy building, and Harry immediately ran to her once the cab had left. Hermione stood up and hugged Harry tightly.

"How do you like the new look?" Harry asked, pulling away.

"You may look different, but you still smile the same way," she answered, grinning and looking positively cute. "You look great."

Harry smiled too, and blushed. "How are you? Is the Ministry bothering you?"

Hermione sat back down on the steps, and dragged Harry down with her. "I'm fine. Everything went okay with the Ministry, they pulled me in for questioning, and I guess they believed me. They had a guy following me around, but I'm positive he didn't follow me here," she said. "What about you? Where did you go?"

Harry sighed. "I went back to the one place I never wanted to see again," he said. "I went back and stayed with the Dursleys."

Hermione kept a strait face while looking at him, looking genuinely sympathetic, but then she looked away and smiled.

"What?" Harry asked, slightly hurt. "What are you thinking?"

Hermione shook her head and looked back at Harry. "It's just a conversation Ron and I had in 7th Year. You had just said how glad you were to be away from the Dursleys, and when you left the room, I said that they might help you later on. Ron said something like 'Yeah, I'll play Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons before the Dursleys save Harry's life.'"

Harry was puzzled as to why this was funny.

Hermione slapped her forehead. "Of course you don't know! Ron's the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons!"

Harry stared dumbly at Hermione before he too smiled. "You're joking. . . ."

"No! That's why he left that morning he came to the Leaky Cauldron! He had practice!"

Something like a bubble of jealousy was expanding in Harry's chest. Ron had ended up with the perfect life, the life Harry had wanted, while Harry himself had landed himself in Azkaban and was now a fugitive awaiting a Dementor's Kiss.

Nevertheless, he managed a small chuckle, which seemed to satisfy Hermione, because she turned away still smiling.

His hands were clenching the step he was sitting on tightly, and his knuckles were turning white. Ron had never visited him in Azkaban, Ron had let this happen to him, Harry's once best friend was now no better than his worse enemy.

And as these thoughts seeped through his mind, his scar let out an excruciating stab of pain. Harry gasped and pressed two of his fingers over the small scar.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, turning to face him, her hand closing over Harry's wrist.

As she did this, a surge of energy ran through Harry, ending in his scar, and Hermione let go of him with a yelp of pain.

Harry buried his head in his knees, rubbing his forehead with such an effort that his skin was becoming sore and bruised. His insides were churning, and quickly Harry leaned over to the side of the step and stuck his head in the bushes and retched.

Finally, the pain subsided, and Harry lifted his head, his eyesight foggy, as though he were watching through a pane of glass.

Hermione was cradling her left hand in her lap. It's palm was a shiny red, apparently burned. Harry immediately stood up, and made a movement to help Hermione, but thought better of touching her.

"Hermione," he moaned, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and Harry pulled out his wand, performing a quick healing charm on her hand. As the skin returned to normal, his scar twinged again, and Harry felt something dripping down the side of his face.

He brought his fingers up to his scar, and when he looked at them, they were coated in a bright red liquid. Blood.

He wiped his forehead and jammed his wand into his pocket. He turned around quickly and instinctively started walking.

Hermione called out for him.

"Where are you going?" she yelled.

When Harry turned to face her, his face was screwed up with the effort of trying to keep the howl that was trying to escape down. "I told you I couldn't stay for long, that night in your apartment. I can't keep hurting people. I'm going to turn myself in. Maybe I deserve to be in Azkaban."

"Harry, no!"

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at his own face. "_Finite Incantatem!_" he said, his voice confident.

He could feel his face molding back into the way it was supposed to be. His hair lengthened and turned black, his eye color changed, his skin changed.

Tears were pouring down Hermione's face. "Harry. . ." she started, but couldn't continue.

Just then there were two loud cracks from directly behind Harry, but before he could turn around he was tackled to the ground.

"How _dare_ you!" a voice hissed in his ear. "You could be seen!"

Slowly, Harry turned his head and saw a curtain of red hair pooling on the ground beside him.

"G-Ginny?" he stuttered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ginny asked, getting off of Harry.

Harry was in shock on the ground. "I can't stay here, Ginny. I'm dangerous."

"You were dangerous in your fifth year too, but we got through that," Ginny said. "Now get up, and keep your face covered."

That wasn't difficult as Harry's long black hair did the job for him.

"Hermione told me that you needed help. I didn't think she meant mental help. If you turn yourself in, you're crazy. They'll send a dementor on you within five minutes. If that happens, your soul will be gone, leaving only V-Voldemort's spirit in your body. You can't get caught, because if you do, Voldemort will return."

Ginny was glaring at Harry with such a fierceness in her eyes that he was sure she was looking right through him. But for the moment, Harry was ignoring Ginny, and instead looking right past her at the source of the second Apparition sound.

Ron stood twenty feet away from them in expensive robes, his hands in his pockets, and was looking at Harry with a mixture of disgust and relief. When Harry met his eyes, Ron looked away, finding a spot in the grass to stare at.

"Let's go inside," Ron said. "I don't want to bother the neighbors."

Harry didn't need to wonder why the neighbors would be bothered. He knew that Ron wanted to yell his head off at him.

Hermione, wiping her face on her sleeve, led the way into the ancient Black house.

Once the purge of the house had ended the summer after Harry's fifth year, the once hateful place seemed almost suitable for human habitation. The portrait of old, crazy Mrs. Black had finally been taken down, along with the house-elf heads and all of the creepy paintings all over the house. New pictures were put up, new furniture was brought in, and the result was a house that showed no sign of it's scarred past.

The smell of cleaning solutions that still lingered in the house had barely reached Harry's nostrils before the door slammed shut, and something hard connected with his cheek.

Collapsing to the ground, Harry clutched his jaw and looked up. Ron was standing over him, massaging his knuckles. Hermione was moving as though to pull Ron away, but Ginny held her back, whispering something in her ear. After that, Hermione relaxed and watched the scene unfolding before them.

Ron was glaring down at Harry, his look of pure venom. "She came out of your wand, Harry. She identified you."

"Ron, wait," Harry said. "You need to understand, I didn't do it!"

"Then why did that poor woman say you did!"

"Because it was my body, but it wasn't me! Voldemort is controlling me!" Harry yelled, aware of how insane he sounded.

"Harry, You-Know-Who is _dead_! And here you are in front of me, lying to my face. Lying to my sister. Lying to my best friend—"

"I'm _not_ lying!"

"I saw him die, Harry. I saw him with my own eyes."

"But he's _not dead!_"

"Liar."

Harry got up and launched himself at Ron, knocking him to the ground. Rage was pumping through his veins; rage at Ron, rage at Mr. Weasley for sending dementors after him, rage at the entire world for turning their backs on him.

Both wands lay five feet away on the ground, completely forgotten. Harry's fist connected with Ron's temple, but Ron punched him back in the chest. Harry gasped for breath, and right as he was about to hit Ron again, he was hit in the stomach by Ron's foot.

This time, Harry rolled to the side, clutching his stomach. Ron, meanwhile, got to his feet and was looking down at Harry, a slight sneer evident on his face. He slowly bent down to retrieve his wand, also collecting the one Harry had been using. He pointed both at Harry's chest.

"Ginny, send for dad. Tell him we've got Harry."

"You wouldn't. . ." Harry said.

Ginny, meanwhile, stayed where she was.

"Ginny! Go get dad!"

"No, I think we should hear Harry out—"

"I've heard him out, and I don't believe him. Go get dad."

Hermione had pulled out her own wand and now had it on Ron. "Please, Ron, stop it."

"He lied to us, Hermione! He pretended to be our friend for seven years, I trusted him, I was ready to believe he didn't kill that woman, but then she came out of his wand, and you know what? I realized that it was a waste of time, those seven years. He lied to everyone. He said he was innocent, but he's a murderer. He deserves to be in Azkaban."

"RON! Will you just _consider_ the idea that Voldemort is possessing him?" Hermione cried.

"Can't you see, Hermione? He's playing us. He wants us to help him, then he'll just ruin our lives again."

Hermione glanced frantically at Harry, still lying on the floor. Blood was drizzling from his mouth, but he didn't seem to notice. His head was down, eyes closed, blood still slowly seeping from his scar. He was obviously taking everything Ron said to heart.

"Ron, you're being stupid," Hermione said.

At this, Ron rounded on Hermione and pointed the wands at her. There was a demonic glint in his eye.

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!" he bellowed.

"_Stupefy!_"

The spell came from near the door, and Hermione turned to see Ginny tucking away her wand. "Stupid prat," he muttered. She then caught Hermione's eye. "Well, it's not like that was unexpected. He wasn't himself tonight anyway, he told me earlier that he might believe Harry."

"Maybe he'll come around later," Hermione sighed. "Just get him in to a bedroom, I'll take Harry down to the kitchen."

Ginny nodded and levitated Ron's body ahead of her as she marched up the stairs, humming a tune to herself.

Harry was watching the spot on the ground where Ron had been, his eyes misty. He looked up at Hermione. "You told me he didn't believe me, but I guess I didn't really hear you."

"Don't worry, Harry, everything will work out," Hermione said, pulling one of Harry's arms over her shoulder and helping him to his feet. He was still clutching his stomach.

Together they walked down to the basement where the kitchen was situated. Hermione sat Harry in a chair, and had him lift his shirt so she could heal him. It was then that she got the real impact of what Azkaban had done to him.

His stomach was caved in, each rib painfully prominent. There were bruises on his body that had surely not resulted from Ron. There was a shiny red burn cutting diagonally across his chest.

Hermione gasped when she saw his body, and looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "All this. . . ."

"From Azkaban," Harry said, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione ran a finger along the burn, and Harry trembled. "That one burns every once in a while."

"Where. . . ?"

"Voldemort would appear in my cell once in a while. I saw him reborn a lot. Each time something different would happen. One time he pushed me towards the cauldron; the rim caught me across the stomach."

Hermione blinked and a tear fell from her eyelashes and landed on his stomach. She leaned her head down, and kissed the burn gently, then performing a spell to remove it from his body.

Once all of the scars and bruises had been removed from him, Hermione sat next to him at the table and dabbed his scar with a wet washcloth. Finally, it stopped bleeding.

"Is there anything you want?" she asked, gripping his hand comfortingly.

Harry shook his head. "The one thing I want, you can't get me."

"Well, then I'll tell you what I want. I want the old Harry back. I want the Harry who used to joke around with Ron. I want the Harry who used to smile, no matter how bad he was feeling."

"I guess I can work on that," Harry said.

"Good," Hermione said, standing up, "because I hate it when you're moping. Want a butterbeer?"

"Yes," Harry said, letting his eyes drop to look at the old table. Hermione didn't move from her spot. Slowly, he looked up at her. She was standing with a hand on her hip, as though waiting for something. Harry smiled, and added, "Please."

Hermione, satisfied, smiled back and strode off to the pantry.

-

****

A/N Thank you for everyone who reviewed. Once again, enjoy your holidays.

felony melanie


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